


The Grave Protrusion

by Karin (Karinpon)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Bad Writing, Crossdressing, Death, Gay, Gothic Lolita, Magical Realism, Oral, Oral Sex, Other, Snuff, fungal penetration, fungus, weird secretion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-23
Updated: 2010-08-23
Packaged: 2018-10-31 04:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinpon/pseuds/Karin
Summary: Bad stuff what I wrote in 2010, lingering on XNXX until I was prompted to subject you all (all two of you) to it. A whimsical cross-dresser gets down to some casual occultism, has sex with a thing, and pays dearly.





	The Grave Protrusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sexsuna (Junna)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sexsuna+%28Junna%29).



Emiru sensed the cumulonimbus looming menacingly, far overhead, as he jogged home from the library on the far side of town. The shadow of the impending storm seemed to chase him, possibly intent on ruining the pages of the strange occult tome he had picked up; or on causing his makeup to run and soaking his nice “goth-loli” dress, which he had incidentally been wearing in public for the first time. This is what he gets, he thought, for having wasted so much time at the library, skimming through the obscure grimoire and childishly incanting all of the most evil-looking contents in quick succession, putting on a show for the extraordinarily superstitious patrons crowding the theology & occult section.

The light of the sun was almost completely blotted out, though the time must have been high-noon; the roaring of thunder danced on his nerves, and a stealthy trickle had already gained on him. The drizzle, slowly increasing in heaviness, relentlessly assailed the inexpensive yet precious materials he wore—he had no choice but to go through the creepy cemetery, always a sure shortcut to any urgent destination.

Lightning streaked across the dark, oppressive sky, and the rain increased drastically in severity. Emiru finally opted to hold the damnable book above his head, shielding his proud, finely-treated locks from nature’s ravages. He knew where the cemetery was, and he had it on good authority that it was indeed the shortest route to his house, but the weather was disorienting—and not just the weather, but something vague, beyond the grasp of coherent thoughts, lurking in the thick atmosphere and watching him. Perhaps it was all in his head. He tried to pick up the pace, though his cute, black pumps were hindered by the swelling mud all around.

Before he could see it, he rammed through the antiquated iron gate, subsequently losing his footing and landing on his buttocks. Enraged, he sat there cursing the skies; for his skirt had lifted on the fall, exposing his pristinely white panties to utter ruination by muddying. He regained his footing with a quivering pout, the suppression of a piercing sob. The feeling of the mud-soaked undergarment caressing his sensitive bits was unbearably repulsive, so he walked in a discomforted crab-like fashion over to the nearest tombstone—that of one “Father Ambrose B. Nelson,” who, it was inscribed, “Served the Good Lord 1934 – Infinity”—on which he sat, and proceeded to slip off his panties.

He tossed the soiled article into some gnarled tree branches far out of reach; then standing up, he took the opportunity to survey his surroundings and ascertain the correct path home therefrom. The cemetery he at last found himself in featured a sparse population of tall, twisted trees, overlooking the myriad of necrotic denizens resting beneath their gaudy gravestones. There was a surprising absence of flowers, grass or shrubbery, too. He looked back the way he came in, and he could see that the gateway was sandwiched between towering walls of apparent cyclopean masonry, which stretched all around the burial ground, protecting nothing.

The rain, as it happened, was subsiding—but the book Emiru held was far beyond non-returnable; pages stuck together and ripped like toilet paper as he even attempted to open it, so he tossed it as well. It appeared, then, that he no longer had any reason to be in a hurry. He decided to muck around the graves and entertain himself with the sometimes amusing inscriptions.

Perhaps an hour went by, spent giggling at fake-looking names, over-elaborate stone shapes and miscellaneous engravings; erratic sprinkling remained, but he had worried over his hair enough for the day. Upon circling a particular tree, however, his sense of direction became totally displaced. It was an odd feeling, nauseating and dizzying beyond description; and as he wobbled, he could swear that his surroundings underwent a subtle, malicious warping. When he eventually righted his vision and could once again walk straight, everything looked the same as before—but he was feeling rather uneasy, so he started in the direction homeward.

That’s when he beheld the ghastly protrusion from one of the burial plots. It was pale and fleshy, resembling a large mushroom in some respects; but also horrifically elongated, reaching slightly higher than most of the tombstones, and it tapered to a craterous tip at the tallest point, secreting a viscous, yellow fluid therefrom. Emiru looked upon the thing with bewilderment. It exuded a profoundly sweet scent, contrasting its grotesque and uncannily phallic appearance.

Emiru got close and leaned over the thing for a better look—it twitched! He was taken aback by its clear reaction to his proximity, but as if on reflex, he clutched it tightly in his right hand. The surface of the protrusion was a bit slippery—it was coated in its strange fluid mixed with rain droplets; and embarrassing thoughts entered Emiru’s head at that moment, so he could not help but begin jerking the phallic fungus as he would himself. Anon, it pulsated and spewed a smattering of the honey-like substance onto his pretty face.

He became incredibly aroused; his penis was already struggling under the weight of his skirt, and he wondered if the thing would taste as sweet as it smells. With the tip of his tongue, he tasted it, and his best expectations were surpassed; for the strange cemetery phallus was, in fact, the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He proceeded to lick its length upwards, and slurp the golden nectar at the tip, which appeared to be the source of all that appealed to his senses earlier. Gulping the profuse excretions, he shivered with delight and reached behind himself with one arm, thereafter thrusting a finger into his arsehole; and he continued like this, massaging his prostate as he fellated the obscene protrusion from out the grave, encroaching upon a half-hour.

By this time his anus, from which he had just removed two fingers, was quivering expectantly. Emiru wanted the thing inside of him; and he took a break from suckling the aromatic fluid so that he could try with his arse. He gripped it tightly in his hand and turned around, leaning forward and pulling it toward his opening as he backed onto it. His dick spat a minute quantity of semen as soon as the protrusion touched his sphincter, and the thing slipped in rather easily. Once he could retain the tip, he backed up a little further, pushing it well into his rectum. His heart-rate increased, and he was hornier now than ever before.

Emiru pushed off and on the slippery outgrowth ad infinitum, unable to stifle his orgiastic moans as hard as he tried—he had ejaculated all over the place; and after several minutes of fucking, the fungal phallus had become so well-lubricated and soft, that Emiru could take it in to its very base, where his buttocks met the soft soil. The thing appeared to have gone limp, having ejaculated all its ichor into his digestive tract. He stood up and it slipped out rather easily, falling in a slight coil onto the ground, though it twitched and one could tell it was slowly re-engorging.

He’d had enough excitement for the day, he decided. He looked himself over, making sure he showed no obvious signs of having spent upwards of an hour sitting on a weird, honey-squirting natural dildo, and from there he jogged home. It was far easier to determine the direction he had to go now that the weather had cleared up, even though dusk had arrived.

His family was in the dining room having the last meal of the night together, though they didn’t seem to take note of him as he crept up a flight of stairs to the bathroom, where he proceeded to inspect himself in the mirror. He was a bit disconcerted by what he beheld in the glass; his eyes were ridiculously blood-shot, and they appeared to be larger than usual, with a somewhat alien aspect about them. His nose, also, was running some disgusting yellow snot straight to his lips.

Suddenly, he suffered an intense stomach cramp right before the mirror. It felt, actually, as though something was moving, tearing at him from the inside. He lifted his skirt up to his neck, uncovering his belly and genitals, and checked the mirror for any abnormalities. His search wasn’t long. A lump, moving under the skin of his abdomen, poking and prodding, like it was trying to escape; it hurt, but not as much as it ought to have. And as if responding to his gaze, a cut manifested in the most prominent area of the lump; bleeding in profusion, coming further agape; and finally, the thing poked out, subjecting itself to immediate identification—a carbon copy of the grave protrusion.

The pain increased—like a perpetual stomach cramp of the worst kind, exacerbated by a singular feeling of coldness all over. The cacodaemonical fungus continued to extend, aiming to reach the proportions of its parent or greater. The defeat of all hope was not complete there, however; for Emiru’s airway had been blocked for several seconds, and at the front of his neck, another lump became apparent, indicating none other than a second protrusion, and his tragically imminent death throes on the bathroom floor.


End file.
